Gee, more griefing. Proudly calling himself a W-hat member too

I think everyone should post their favorite Hakan thread. Here's mine. Sorry no gist to this one, it's just art. I had to remove random paragraphs in the middle to make it fit, I hope it's still readable!

Memoir of the Invisible Man
By Hakan

It was in the Korova Valley that the darkness came, a place of unrest and instability. We were sent in to impose our nations will, an idea the populace accepted, and to fight the enemy to our deaths. It was war and we thought this was as bad as it could get.

It was bad, yes, but perhaps worse for me. I still think there is a romantic opinion about being a sniper, to be alone and one with your gun, to not have to be on the front line and not feel the enemy beside you. But they had the luxury of denial; of shooting the enemy in the dark, in blind shots or in group fire, and only later discovering the body to whom anyone could claim as theirs. But that was not how it was for me, for me it was knowing the enemy, to see their expression and to know exactly which one you killed and how he died.

And that was how you got to be a good sniper. It is personal, it is intimate, it is so close. You follow the target and you watch him carefully. You study him, watch him and his mannerisms and movement; you learn him and get to know him. You don’t fire at first, because no matter how exact the crosshair is, there might be error if he suddenly jerks or the distance is too far. Once, I remember, I saw this tanker peep out of his hole and light himself a cigarette. I could have lit for him if I wanted, I know, or covered the cigarette with blood. But I waited. I waited for him to step out of his tank and join his friends next to the ammunition pile. And he saw me, or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was looking at the tree behind me, or the cloud that might have been hanging low in the sky, or a leaf that fell and blew across our line of sight. But we almost made contact. He looked at peace, like the weight of the world was gone for a moment, that he was not there and none of this was happening, standing next to his friends and fellow soldiers, chatting. And I shot him, through his heart, and then the ammunition behind him. It exploded and got his friends with him. And I can’t remember if I did or did not say a prayer for them, or collect their dog tags and put them in my pouch. They are long gone and dead, and only I carry them in my mind. And with each shot I make, and remember, I wonder how many more will it be before it’s over. I can remember each persons face, and point them out in a line up if I wanted. Or shoot them in a line up. Either or.

I sat in the muddy river, concealed and hidden in its warmth, and looked at the beautiful scenery around me. Most of the time the weather was pleasant, and the tall trees that stood close to each other would sway in the wind, and there would be a calming rustling sound of their leaves, like a domino effect as the wind passed through each tree. There would always be background noise of the wind, or the tall, dry grass moving with soft sounds around me. Today the sky was gray, and there were dry patches in the grass, and the wind would sometimes bring swarms of dust up in the air and it would disappear into the sky. It hadn’t rained in so long, and the river I was in was losing water. It was still wide and deep, though. One day, I thought, there would be a flood, and a river big enough to engulf the entire valley, and it would wash away all the soldiers and our sins with it.

Far away across the rolling hills, I saw a figure coming down towards me, walking alongside the river. He was tall and his dark camo was no help against the yellow fields of dying grass. He bobbed and half stumbled from not paying attention to the rocks around his feet, and his arms swayed in front of him lazily. I held my breath and aimed my gun as he approached, but soon I recognized him as one of my own.

“Malek! Malek!” he whispered loudly, turning his head side to side.

I stood up and the water rushed from my clothes, and that made them stick tightly to me and made a loud crash as the water fell. It startled him, Lance, and he pulled out his pistol in self defense, but didn’t fire. From the way he held his gun, and when you looked at him, it was hard to imagine he ever fired a pistol in his life.

“Lance, what the hell are you doing here?” He put his pistol down at the sound of his name.
“I knew you were around here somewhere. Jesus. We’re gonna need you up ahead.”
“Why? What’s going on?”

“Our unit’s got some of them pinned down in a cabin, but they aren’t coming out easy. No way. They got firepower up there, but they know they’re stuck.” He scratched his head and looked down. “We barely outgun them, but we got the high terrain.”
“How much fue a field goal?" I asked.
"Sure, but we're supposed to reach another encampment five miles down the river, and Adem's gonna be along the way, waiting for us. Do you want to face Adem, Malek?"
"I guess not."
"Neither do I. So let's just go visit these troops for now."

It was in malaise and despair we, I and our unit of soldiers, couldn't have been more than ten of them, walked, for I don't know how long, until the rolling yellow fields of grass gave way to a flattened earth covered with military hospital tents with red crosses on top. The tents were lined in rows, and they spurt up from the ground like tombstones, and I couldn't tell if they were really hospitals or hastily thrown together mortuaries.

I walked past the medics and their patients, and they smiled at me and knew who I was, and they made way for me. Their faces were pale and eyes sunken, fixated on me. They looked desperate and hungry, and their hands reached out towards me when I got too close. Some tipped their helmets to me, others offered their stories of suffering, and some asked me for words of wisdom or meaning. I saw the wounded and bleeding, those in the shock of insanity, and the rows of soldiers who were living in the dirt.

One soldier in particular, I remember, stepped out in front of me and blocked the path I was walking. His eyes were gray, hands shaky, perhaps from manning a machine gun for too long, slightly hunched over he stopped me and talked to me. He was too old to be a recruit, and looked too insane to be a former officer. He was not wounded.
"My boy, hold on a second my boy," he said.
"Yes?"
“Why are we here? Jesus. Why are we here?” he asked me.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Who cares about us, who cares?”
“The devil may care.”

"Oh," he looked shocked and backed away slowly, and disappeared into the sea of sad faces. It wasn't my job to comfort them, any of them. I was just a soldier.

I ended up in the officer's tent, with Lance and a few of the other commanders standing over a map of Korova valley. They were circled around a table, tightly, and I was excluded, and stood in the uncomfortable air and on the damp ground. The smell of antiseptics and iodine still lingered, and there were spots on the ground where sick beds used to be, where the grass had died from where they were. A light held over the group, and if you stared at the bulb for a few seconds it would look like it was getting brighter, but it couldn't have been. It illuminated the sweat on the officers' foreheads that were accumulating from standing under its heat, and it cast shadows of iv drip lines and leftover bed-frames on the canvas tent wall. Lance turned to acknowledge me, then walked over to speak silently. "Good news Malek, good news."

"What's the news?" I asked.
"You've been assigned to my unit, I'm your superior now. No more risky reconnaissance, or solo missions behind enemy lines. You've got a group of some of the best soldiers at your side."

He tried to speak with such confidence, and tried to reassure me. But that wasn't Lance. The glint in his eye and the forced smile looked fragile, and he could've broken into tears at the sound of a gunshot.

"You don't look well, Lance."
"Haha...." and his smile turned into a frown, and his eyes were concentrated and fixated on something else far in the distance. "Malek, you have no idea what kind of pressure they're putting me under." He pushed his hair back with his hand and held it back. "You're the only sniper. They want us to get up the river by tomorrow, past where Adem took ground. Now don't get me wrong, you're just gonna be back-up, give us cover while we can take points and cover the area. We'll get him, I know, we just need you."

Some are born for greatness, others have it thrust upon them, and still others have it programmed into their way of life. I don't know which I was, if I was greatness, and I didn't want to know.

That night the stories about Adem pilled up around me, as the survivors of his attacks recited what they experienced. "They say everyone he hurts, he loves," one said. "He's only doing it for our benefit," another remarked, "after all, who wants to be here? Better to be sent home a cripple, or even die, than let your brain melt in the field." No one knew what he looked like, or knew about what techniques he was using. The only thing they knew was the feeling they got afterwards, about a man in hiding, hurting people in the name of country and duty, getting away with it and never being able to be punished. It was an unwritten code among the elite snipers, they thought: we communicated to each other in the people we killed and injured, secret messages only we could see.


It was down about three miles, I can't remember, when the thick tree's finally cleared, and all that was left was a huge field of shoulder high grass. There was a greenhouse, or what once was, all wild and overgrown. It must have been a foxglove or florist greenhouse, from the way everything was spreading out and growing around it. You'd think someone wrapped hundreds of foxgloves on a C4 bomb and it exploded and foxgloves shot everywhere, and still kept growing. The first soldier went out in the field and took point. He crouched, almost completely hidden in the grass, with his gun resting on his leg, facing us and waiting for a signal from Lance. It was almost peaceful, and the grass blew and made small tapping sounds on his helmet. He looked back at us, maybe for comfort, eyeing us up and down, his blue eyes standing out from his dark face make-up, and his red lips, the color of flesh after blood has already let, and all that was left was the wound, were trembling. The shot rang out abruptly, and cut down the blades of grass in its path. It sounded like an animal was racing through the brush. It hit the soldier taking point in the leg. He fell, and let out a cry, and crawled on his belly all the way back to us, the rest of the unit.

"Jesus!! Did you see that?! Holy shit where is he???" Lance turned to the rest of the unit, "did any of you see him?? Which direction was the shot?" Everyone nodded their heads. "Ok, it must have come from over there," he stood up and pointed near the greenhouse, then realized he was standing, and fell back down to crouch. It was a long way down in the field, maybe 300 feet, right in the middle of it, away from the river. The river divided the clearing in half, and on one half was the greenhouse, and everywhere outside the clearing was thick woods. "Malek, I'm sorry to do this to you, but it's all up to you now. You've seen what he's been doing, we can't even advance."

"What makes you think I can?" I said.

"Just go down in the river, you'll be in no danger in there, and go down far enough and come out at the other end of the field, and try to circumvent him."

"Why don't we just do a sweep around the other way, through the woods?"
"Malek. Do it. Kill Adem." He was no longer desperate in his tone. "I've done all I can now. Kill Adem."


The banks of the river were wide, and the slope was very tall, over five feet. I bent over halfway and ran as fast as I could. Once I was sure I reached the other side of the clearing, where the woods met the high grass again, I crept out and crawled as flat and quietly as I could. It was no surprise that there were dead soldiers there, it was such simple logic to try to circumvent the enemy. It looked like they tried to burn down the grass, but only managed to fuse ammo casings to the ground, in the mud and hard dirt. I must have crawled for hours, creeping my way up, foot by foot, listening to every twig break and false alarm. But there he finally was, not more than a hundred feet away from the greenhouse, laying on top of a stack of sandbags, aiming his gun at me. Maybe he wasn't aiming his gun at me, because he didn't fire, and it never occurred to me to feel scared. I was still behind a few feet of grass, and he could've been just aiming in my direction, perhaps expecting me.

I brought my gun up, slowly and steadily, and got the crosshair on him. I couldn't get a clean shot, as his torso was slightly turned away from me, and I prefer getting heart shots than head shots. But then he did the strangest thing: he put down his gun, sat upright, and lit himself a cigarette. Was he making it this easy for me? Did he know I was there? The cigarette flew out of his mouth as he fell back, behind the sandbags. His head jerked sharply and his hair sprayed his sweat in all directions.

As I approached his position, I did not hear him crying or moaning, his yells of pain, or his prayers to whatever God he may have worshipped. As I approached, and pushed down the pillows of grass before me, I saw him lying on his back, arms spread out like a birds, singing a song to himself, with his head lifted off the ground, as if looking at his body and remembering it would be saving it.

I’ll never look into your eyes again
Can you picture what will be
So limitless and free
Desperately in need of some strangers hand
In a desperate land

I stood over his body, still moving and breathing and trying to sustain itself. He had such great will to withstand such pain, and he seemed like he was waiting to talk to me before he would die. But he didn’t look at me, he was talking to nobody in particular, only the air around him. I offered no sympathy in my words: “I’ve always told myself I don’t want to die, but if I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die last.”

“I told them… I told them I would never go back.” He smiled, the kind of smile that was sick and knew a truth I was not aware of; a mocking smile of contempt for ignorance. “What have Gods got to live for?”

And I knew we were not so different after all, no matter what he thought, no matter what they said about him. Maybe I was the only one who felt the kinship, and understood that war is too important to be left to the generals.

He could no longer keep his head up, and it fell back to the ground with a thud. I was still standing over him, and the blades of the grass around us were tall and swayed in the wind, and that made me shiver, and the sky was still gray and I knew it was only going to get colder with time. His eyes were still open, and I looked at them and saw my reflection in his pupils. Then I closed them.


And I tried to remember, to think back to a happier time in my life, where the sun was always shining when I looked outside, and where familiar childhood songs were playing, and my parents would tell me how much they loved me and how beautiful a boy I was, and how beautiful I was going to be when I grew up and how good life would be. A place in my mind, of warmth that transcends time, of ignorance and beauty and joy, where I’ll never feel bad or hurt or lost.

But I can’t find it anymore. It’s gone. It’s a dream world that escapes me more each day, as I grow more awake in the field, in battle. It’s taken away, so quickly, faster than I can catch it, like paper caught in wind.

yr no hakkan

w-hat?

This thread officialy died at 10:57 P.M. eastern standard time, R.I.P.

I'm the only Time Jew here, you're NOTHING.

He's cracked the code!! after him!

Hi Lucah!

ok, this is killin me 1st of all i didn't see anything in his post that says he said negs are against anything. and then the other one said that you are right, but it didn't sound like he was talking about you at all about the triple neg.

I can tell you that W-hat is not nearly as bad as the seriously flawed abuse report system that does nothing but give our power over to the linden authority. Being able to abuse report W-hat means you are able to abuse report legitimate expression... or anything that you "just don't like".

As noted that neg rates made these people happy... negitive attention is still attention. Don't mind them and just mute them and they will go away.

Besides. What they do can hardly be concidered true "abuse" anyway. It's just annoying kids stuff but it's not physically or emotionaly *painful* or *brutal*.

and the fact that you are encouraging newbies to file reports?!?!?! That isn't what we should be teaching newbies... to become an extention of linden labs' police state???

I mean come on!!! we should be teaching newbies to embrace chaos!!! not how to kill people's accounts when they see something that they don't like.

Luring a person to come visit, firebombing them, then organized neg rating them, IS a ToS. Quit feigning innocence, quit lying about not acting as a group, and for fuck's sake at least be big enough to own what you do, especially if you're going to act like baboons.

I was really ready to give these folks the benefit of the doubt last nite, they invited me over. I went. Not a good idea, they firebombed me and then started a mass neg rate.

No benefit of the doubt. Cowards. Even fuckhead George Bush isn't as much of a cop out as these people are. Cry me a river about people lumping you all together, you act in concert and you deserve EVERY bit of it.

They would like us to believe that they are just another group. They aren't. They act in unison and I experienced it FIRSTHAND last nite. I don't want to hear more excuses or be questioned about *my qualifications* to make such judgements, I WAS THERE last night and they acted like bloodthirsty hyenas.

Hmm re-reading the post in question, I think i may have read it wrong. I thought that when pandastrong said "he was out griefing in ahern" he was referring to me. As far as the original poster saying that negs were against something: He said that he instructed the newbies on how to file an abuse report, an abuse report indicates that someone is breaking the rules, and it needs to be reported. I was saying that negatively rating someone is not against the rules.

Mass negging IS. Care to defend THAT Duckhead?

I am waiting.

I was there when you decided to pay your little visit. First you weren't able to type for reasons unknown without any caps or punctuation, with your sentences sprinkled with typoes here and there. Then you rambled a bit in ways that were rather insulting, including complaining about how Masa's vagina smelled after initially saying 'Hey, we're the same height, wanna fuck?'. Then you went on and on about how you were so counter-culture and 'showing W-Hat one back'. That's about time people started negging you. Most people's reaction in the group's IM window was mostly just stunned what a tool you were acting like when people were more than likely trying to be civil. This may be your idea of stereotyping how all W-Hat folks act and your attempt at 'fitting in' with them, but it wasn't very funny nor was it warranted.

Well played, indeed.

As much as you'd probably like to claim I'm one of those W-Hat group-think alikes, I only remained in that group for the course of a day (Joined this morning, left earlier tonight, actually) out of morbid curiosity and what I saw was that a lot of people gave as much back as they've been accused of dishing, requiring little or no provocation whatsoever other than simply being there. This doesn't excuse members of that group who do sleazy things, but it certainly doesn't paint a great picture for a lot of other people, either.

To that you'll likely say 'Yeah, well that'll show 'em' or 'Sure, they deserve it', but I don't think it makes you look like any less of an asshole than they (group, individual or no) have at times. Two wrongs certainly did not equal a right in what you decided to pull earlier. I swear you had to have been drinking, in fact I outright asked you and others were thinking similar. But for you to try and spin that here in front of everyone here as if you were somehow completely innocent and above the situation, probably banking on the fact that W-Hat has shit creditbility with anyone here? Dude, that's totally slimy.

Also given that you've added 'I am waiting' to the last part of this crappy thread, means that likely you're going to play a big game of 'nuh uh' with it and I'm just wasting my time typing any of this to feed another kind of troll.

Oh i'm sorry, i stepped away from the thread for a few moments, but I decided to check it before I went to sleep, sorry for my delay in responding to you in this thread. I did not neg rate you. I have not neg rated ANYONE.

EDIT: Ever.

I am sorry. You are wrong. I am tired of excuses. Now we have a *you were drunk* excuse. *adds it to the list*.

I didn't *decide* to pay a *little visit*. I was invited, and frankly, I find it insulting that you are accusing me of being drunk.

Yes I do make typos. I am a shitty typist. So if changing to an elf avatar, and making typos makes me "drunk", color me guilty. If that warrants being firebombed, shot and mass negged, I am sorry, but I don't get it. As far as the rest of your post, it's bunk.

Played? I was INVITED. I went to try to make some sort of amends, to bridge the gap, find common ground if it was at all possible. Apparently it wasn't.

Thanks for calling me an asshole. The check is in the mail.

Tell me, why did you leave the group the same day you joined?

Care to make more excuses?

I must have missed the part where I accused you of negging me.

If you are not accusing me of negging you then what are you accusing me of? I tried to find out in game, I tried to find out in private message, can you please tell me what it is I did to you? Responding to me in any of the above methods would be very much appreciated.

I didn't accuse you of anything.

Then what was all that business in game about me feigning innocence and whatnot? Not trying to be argumentative, just want to understand what is going on.

You were feigning no knowledge.

Knowledge of what? (This would be easier in IM if you would like to contact me in game again)

I'm starting a pool on how many pages this thread goes before it gets locked.